📝🐱😻I Am Not in Love

I need to address a rumour.

Apparently, I am in love.

This extraordinary conclusion has been reached by my humans because a red gentleman occasionally appears in the garden and, whenever I see him, I hurry to the window, place my paws against the glass and scratch enthusiastically.

“Oh look,” they say. “She likes him.”

Likes him.

Honestly.

A lady cannot show a professional interest in a visiting gentleman these days without the household arranging the wedding.

Yes, I watch him.

Closely.

Yes, I follow him from one window to another.

Yes, when he comes particularly near the house, I may scratch at the glass with a degree of urgency.

This is not romance.

This is border control.

The red gentleman is standing in my garden.

Well, technically the humans believe it is their garden because their names appear on various documents. I allow them this little administrative fantasy.

When the red gentleman arrives, it is therefore my responsibility to establish who he is, what he wants and why he is sniffing that particular shrub with such confidence.

The scratching at the window is simply an attempt to conduct a routine interview.

Unfortunately, there is glass in the way.

The humans, meanwhile, stand behind me smiling.

“She really wants to get to him.”

Correct.

For questioning.

There has also been an attempt to connect these visits with what the humans are calling the flowerpot incident.

I reject this entirely.

It is true that the red gentleman appeared.

It is true that I moved rapidly along the windowsill.

And it is true that shortly afterwards a flowerpot was on the floor.

These are three separate facts which my humans have irresponsibly assembled into a story.

Personally, I think the flowerpot fell because it was standing too close to the edge.

A basic error.

I certainly had nothing to do with it.

I was busy with border control.

The red gentleman still visits.

I still rush to the window.

I still scratch at the glass.

And my humans still look at each other with those ridiculous little smiles.

They think I have a boyfriend.

I think there is an unidentified male repeatedly entering my territory without completing the appropriate paperwork.

One of us is being silly.

Yours, Mrs. Cotton 🐱🐾